


So Stay With Me and I'll Have It Made

by bellatemple



Category: Haven (TV)
Genre: 5A fix-it, Gen, Ghosts, Hurt/Comfort, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:55:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28757700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellatemple/pseuds/bellatemple
Summary: Catching up with Audrey and Nathan after his sister's funeral, Dwight realizes that something -- or rather someONE -- has been falling through the cracks. Once a cleaner, always a cleaner; he's damned if he's not going to go try to fix that.
Comments: 14
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Self-indulgent fix it fic is self-indulgent! I have very little idea where this sucker is going to go. It might be Duke/Dwight? I don't know. I really don't. 
> 
> STRAP IN FOLKS. 
> 
> (Title from "No Rain" by Blind Melon)

"So you're . . . all Audrey," Dwight said, taking a seat by the firepit on the Gull's outdoor deck. 

Nathan and Audrey exchanged a glance as Audrey nodded. "Yep." 

"And Mara is. . . ." Nathan trailed off and shrugged. "All Mara. She's locked up in the hold of Duke's boat." 

"That's music to my ears," Dwight said. "She give us anything?" 

"She helped us with the trouble last week," Audrey said. "She knew how it worked since she created it in the first place." 

Dwight frowned. "Nothing since?" 

"We haven't had a trouble," Nathan said, smiling. "It's been . . . quiet. While you were gone." 

"Nathan finally went and bought some new socks," Audrey said. Nathan nodded, thumping his boots down on the edge of the unlit firepit so he could pull his pant leg up and show them off. All three of them chuckled. 

Dwight watched the two of them, smiling and relaxed. Downright goofy. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen either of them so at ease. They deserved it, after everything they'd both gone through. Audrey, trapped inside her own body, fighting for control. Nathan fighting the whole town just to prove she was there, much less to rescue her. He wondered when they'd last gotten a break like this. 

"How 'bout Duke?" he asked, sipping his iced tea. Both of them looked at him, faint expressions of confusion on their faces. Dwight flicked them a smile. "Did he get in on the sock-buying?"

They exchanged glances with each other again, and the calm, easy feeling around the firepit started to slip away. 

"He's been watching Mara," Audrey said finally, looking down into her nearly empty glass. Dwight let his eyes flick from her to Nathan. 

"By himself?" 

Nathan dropped his feet back to the deck and sat up, brows dropping low. "Can't trust anyone else. Vince and Dave are still down south, and you were out of town. . . ." 

Dwight nodded slowly. He got the logic in that, and he couldn't argue that these two needed the break. With Audrey still recovering, and Nathan nearly dying in that ghost nonsense, sock buying must have been about their speed. He let them change the subject, back to lighter fare — Audrey was excited to get to spike her drink and relax soon, and Nathan had an update on Gloria and her continuing attempts to baby-proof her house for little Aaron — but it didn't sit right with him. He pushed it to the back of his brain and worried at it like a sore tooth for the rest of the afternoon, as he split a plate of nachos with Audrey and Nathan before heading out, as he stopped in at the station to check his messages, as he drove home.

When he finally figured it out, he slammed on the brakes so hard he nearly caused an accident. Then narrowly missed another one as he jerked his truck into a tight u-turn, heading for the docks. 

Mara was _terrifying_. Her gloating wasn't a mask, it wasn't for show, she really felt in control of any room she entered. She thought of humans as less than insects, had no problem toying with them and manipulating them. She'd gotten to Dwight, and he was trained to resist _torture_. Duke was one of the most capable people Dwight had ever met, untrained but street-smart, able to change tactics on a dime, but while his emotional armor was thick and well-fortified, it was also compromised. By his malfunctioning trouble. By Jennifer's death. By _Wade's_. Dwight could think of six different ways to get Duke to do what he wanted, and he wasn't an ancient evil sociopath who saw people as playthings. 

And Duke had been with Mara for at least a week. 

Alone.

The marina was quiet when Dwight arrived. Duke's truck was in its usual spot at the end of the _Rouge_ 's slip. The deck lights were on, and Dwight could see the warm glow of the galley through the portholes and skylights. He didn't bother to knock before making his way inside. This wasn't the first time he'd broken onto Duke's boat, and he was pretty sure it wouldn't be the last, either. 

Unless things were even worse inside than he feared. 

Duke barely blinked when Dwight burst inside. He was sitting at the table in his galley, head propped on one hand, a glass of amber liquor clenched in the other. The bottle, deep green with a black label, sat at his elbow. The skin under Duke's eyes was nearly the same shade of green. 

"You look like shit," Dwight said. 

Duke's mouth drew up in a sharp, challenging smile. His voice when he spoke was bone-dry and spare. "Hi, Sasquatch. Come on in." 

Dwight couldn't decide if it sounded like he'd been talking too much recently, or not enough. He dropped onto the bench across from Duke and picked up the bottle. It was still mostly full, missing only maybe a finger more than what was already in Duke's glass. Again, it could mean too much, or it could mean not enough. Depended on whether or not this bottle was the first of the night. Dwight looked Duke over again, but couldn't quite get a read on him, if he was drunk or sick. 

All he knew was that Duke was definitely exhausted. 

"I'm here to check on you," Dwight said. He looked around and found a glass, pouring himself a shot just to see what Duke would do. All he did was watch. "Make sure you're okay." 

Duke nodded faintly, his jaw tight. His breathing was a little off, maybe. Faster than it should be. Though, well, Dwight had just broken onto his boat. And the last couple times he'd done that, Dwight had won the fight that followed. 

That sharp smile came back, small but full of jagged edges. "And what's your verdict, then, Squatch?" 

"Just said you look like shit." 

Duke huffed half a laugh. "That's true. You did say that." He tossed back his drink with a grimace and reached for the bottle. His hand shook. "Thanks for letting me know. Make sure to keep me apprised as the situation develops." 

"Duke." Dwight shifted the bottle away from Duke's reaching hand. "You need a break. Let me take watch on Mara while you get some sleep." 

Duke's hand closed on nothing and he scowled. "That an order, Chief?" 

"Does it need to be?" 

Duke made a show of sitting up, rolling his shoulders back and lifting his chin before leaning slowly back in his seat. "I'm fine." 

A spot of red welled up in the corner of his eye and spilled over as Dwight watched, tracing its way about halfway down the side of his nose before it vanished again into his skin. 

Shit. 

"When was the last time you vented a trouble?" Dwight asked. "Was it last week? When you split Audrey off Mara?" 

Duke sighed and sagged, looking away across his galley for a long moment before looking back. "You'd think that one would hold me for a while," he said. "I created a whole new person. Gave — birth or whatever." He grimaced and choked on a whine, transforming it into a laugh halfway through. His breathing _was_ labored, hitching faintly on the end. 

That was how his troubles tried to force their way out, through his eyes and his lungs. 

Dwight gave him a stern look. "You need to let out another one." 

Another laugh. Duke wrapped his arm gingerly over his stomach. Dwight wondered if the troubles ever tried to come out through there, too. If Duke would just start hemorrhaging them from every pore like a victim of ebola. "No shit." Duke gestured to a leather journal on the countertop across the room, sprawled open as though it'd been thrown. "Been trying to find one that won't —" He cut himself off with another whine, this one breaking past his lips before he could swallow it back. The hand not wrapped around his torso clutched the edge of the table as he doubled over. Dwight lunged forward, half-expecting Duke to go toppling to the floor. 

Duke let out a heavy breath and slumped against the backrest of his bench again, fist pounding into the tabletop. The pain seemed to come and go in waves. It reminded Dwight of nothing so much as his ex's menstrual cramps, before she got pregnant with Lizzie. He wondered if the same tricks he'd learned for her would help Duke. If trouble-cramps could be cured by a heating pad, ibuprofen, and a cheeseburger. 

Of course they couldn't. The only thing that could relieve pressure was to let something _out_. 

"You don't need Mara anymore," Dwight said, getting up to grab the journal. "Right? You split Audrey off by yourself, without her help." 

Duke nodded, slouching forward and crossing his arms on the table to pillow his head. "Wasn't supposed to work that way. Was trying to just put Audrey back in charge, but it went —" A close-mouthed cough, a swallow. "— Weird." 

"Because Mara wasn't helping?" 

"Because troubles are fucked and don't do what you tell them to." 

Dwight looked down at the journal, flipping through it. "These are all the troubles you have inside you?" 

"A full menu of death and destruction." Duke sighed and closed his eyes. "All the nice ones are already gone." 

"There are nice troubles?" Dwight asked. He looked at the page he'd landed on. It was a trouble that made your childhood terrors manifest. Duke's ancestor had managed to take it out, but only after an enormous spider had managed to eat its way through half a scout troop. "Yeee. Okay, I see what you mean." 

Duke didn't answer. Dwight looked up to find his face slack, his breath wheezing in and out unselfconsciously. 

He'd passed out. From pain, maybe, or from internal blood loss. He was pale enough that Dwight figured it could go either way. 

"You can't keep going like this, Duke." He set the journal down on the table and reached down to check Duke's pulse. Duke jerked awake at the touch, shoving back deeper into the bench, until he was wedged up against the bulkhead. He stared wild-eyed up at Dwight for a breath, apparently not recognizing him, then dragged his usual devil-may-care mask back into place. 

"You need something else, Squatch?" 

"Justice for the troubles would be nice," Dwight said, crossing his arms over his chest. "But I'll settle for you getting your head out of your ass and taking care of yourself." 

Duke rolled his eyes and shifted in his seat, probably trying to make his defensive crouch look casual. "I'm _fine_." 

"You're dying." 

Duke grinned. Dwight thought he saw a glint of blood on his lip, but it vanished a moment later. "We're all dying, man. It's the circle of life." 

Dwight thumped his hand down on the journal. "You're dying in a way you can _fix_." 

Duke scowled and scoffed. "I can hold out a little longer. Audrey just needs a break, then she'll make Mara give us a cure." He spread his hands, then turned his head and coughed into his shoulder. "I'll be fine." 

Dwight raised an eyebrow at him. "You can barely sit upright. You should at least be in bed." 

Duke seemed to take that as a challenge. He grabbed onto the table and the back of the bench, yanking himself up to his feet. If Dwight hadn't been standing right there, he would have toppled again immediately. Instead, he barely started to sway before Dwight grabbed him around the shoulders and eased him back down into his seat. 

"Yeah, man." Dwight snorted. "You're fine." 

Duke leaned heavier and heavier against him. Dwight pulled back a little, supporting Duke's head as it wobbled on his neck. The effort to stand had been too much apparently; he was out again. Deep enough not to react when Dwight pressed his fingers into the side of his neck, or when he leaned in to listen to the faint, wet rattle at the end of his breaths. 

They didn't have time for Audrey to finish taking her break. They didn't have time for anyone to try to talk Mara into doing anything helpful at all. Duke needed to vent a trouble _now_ , and if he wasn't willing to. . . .

Dwight would just have to do it for him. 

He lay Duke carefully down against the table again, making sure he wouldn't choke if his mouth started to bleed. The blood had something to do with letting them out — Duke's whole trouble was blood-based — but Dwight wasn't sure of the details. He seemed to just absorb it back in if it stayed on his skin. Dwight flipped through the journal again, as though somehow one of Duke's ancestors would have the answer, then pulled his phone from his pocket. 

Duke wouldn't thank him for broadcasting this situation, he knew. But he needed assistance. He needed to know how to do this with a minimum of damage. 

Nathan answered on the second ring, sounding anxious and slightly out of breath. " _There another trouble?_ "

"Not yet." Dwight frowned down at Duke, watching his chest rise and fall. He was much too still like this. It was jarring. "How does Duke let them out?" 

He expected Nathan to demand to know why, for him to argue, maybe, but Nathan got right to it. " _Blood. It needs to touch the ground._ " 

"Ground," Dwight said. "Like, dirt?" 

" _Floor works_ ," Nathan said. There was a pause, and again, Dwight waited for him to ask why Dwight wanted to know. " _Doesn't take much. Couple drops._ " 

"Right." Dwight nodded, patting down his pockets. "Thanks." 

He hung up. If Nathan wanted to know what was happening, he could come over and find out. Duke needed Dwight focussed on him, right now, not on explanations. 

He pulled out and unfolded his utility knife, then grabbed the liquor bottle and a couple napkins. He turned over Duke's right hand, noting the remains of a long, shallow gash across the palm where he must have cut himself to let the splitting trouble out. Dwight shook his head, tutting softly. A cut there would take forever to heal, but maybe Duke had wanted to make it big, to bleed enough to get the power he needed to take down Mara. Dwight didn't need anything quite so drastic. He wet the napkins with the liquor and wiped down both his blade and Duke's middle finger, then pricked the tip of it as gently as he could. A drop of blood welled up, and Dwight massaged the finger to encourage it to grow until it was heavy enough to fall to the floor. It vanished almost as soon as it hit, just like it would into Duke's skin. 

Dwight braced himself, but nothing seemed to happen. Nathan had said a couple drops, though, so he kept working Duke's finger to encourage more blood to flow. 

"Why are you molesting my hand?" 

Duke's voice was soft, barely more than a murmur, but it still startled Dwight, who'd been focusing so hard on his finger. 

"Welcome back to the land of the living," Dwight said, reaching for a dry napkin to press against the tiny wound. He glanced up at Duke just in time to see him slam his eyes shut and go _rigid_. 

"Dwight," Duke ground out through his teeth. "What did you _do?_ " 

"Kept you from exploding," Dwight said, manipulating Duke's thumb so he could hold pressure on his own finger while Dwight looked for a bandaid. "You're welcome." 

Duke took a slow, carefully measured breath that shook on the exhale. "You _stupid_ —" He bit his lip and shoved himself back into the corner of the bench by the wall again, his arms coming up to wrap around his head. " _Why?_ " 

"Seriously, man?" Dwight shook his head, getting to his feet to start looking through drawers and cabinets. "The pain got so bad you passed out. Twice." He glanced back at Duke, who seemed to be doing his best to burrow backwards into his boat's hull. "It was let one trouble out, or let them all out. That's real easy math in my book." 

Duke breath got louder and faster, verging on hyperventilation. Dwight gave up his bandaid search and came back over to the table, reaching for Duke's arms. 

"Hey. _Hey_. Look at me, Duke. You're okay." 

Duke flung himself forward, bursting past Dwight, his hands scrabbling for the journal. Dwight watched as he searched through it, his head down and twisted away. When he found whatever he was looking for, he thrust the book back at Dwight, his head still held low, and offered a curt "Andersen trouble." 

Dwight frowned and read over the entry. The Andersen trouble turned anyone they made eye contact with to stone. 

"Nothing about this is _okay_ ," Duke hissed. "You just played trouble roulette! I could have venomous spit, or cry poison gas, or make your head explode if I raise my voice. The only thing we know right now is that it's not Jordan's trouble, because you already touched me while you were making love to my hand." 

Dwight resisted the urge to look up at him. He'd really rather not be turned to stone. He flipped through the pages of the journal instead, skimming over entry after entry of troubles, ranging from the personally horrible to the town-scale catastrophic. "So . . . we figure it out," he said, snapping the book closed before the sheer wealth of deadly curses could overwhelm him. "We'll get Audrey down here, and whatever it is, she can help us figure out the trigger and defuse it."

"Like she defused Nathan's trouble?" Duke asked. "Or yours? She's not magic, Dwight." He settled himself gingerly down onto the padded bench that served as his couch, his head in his hands. "She's not even immune anymore." 

Dwight frowned. She and Nathan hadn't mentioned that. "Then we'll do something else," he said firmly. "This is still better than you exploding all over town, man." 

Duke was shaking. Laughter or denial or shock, Dwight wasn't sure. He remembered hearing about a trouble awhile back, before the Barn. A nasty one that had sent several children into shock before it suddenly ended. It'd been bizarre enough that Dwight hadn't even had to do much to cover it up, just let people believe the stories were some conspiracy theory nonsense about black market organ thieves. If Duke had ended that one, and if Dwight had _let it out —_

"You'll be okay, Duke." 

Duke snapped his head up, locking eyes with Dwight for a long moment. The Andersen trouble was off the table apparently; Dwight remained entirely unfossilized. Which Duke had known, from the sound of the voice coming from the door to the bedroom. 

She wore the same jacket she'd died in down in the cave beneath the lighthouse. The same one Dwight had last seen peeking out from under the zipper of a body bag. 

Duke's breath caught, then eased out on a sigh. 

"Jennifer."


	2. Chapter 2

He looked so different. 

It wasn't just the hair, though of course that was the obvious change and she hated it. Something fundamental had been altered in Duke since her — since she — since — 

Since she died. 

She was dead. 

She was _dead_ , and that was what pissed her off the most. More than Duke's hair or the hollow look in his eyes. More than the stupid, gaping look of shock on Dwight's face as he stared at her. She was _dead_. She'd taken up that goddamn book and questioned the very nature of her own being to help Nathan and Audrey get rid of William, and she was supposed to get her coffee commercial happy ending and instead she _died_. 

And for what? Duke was still falling apart, obviously. And the troubles were still ravaging Haven, or she wouldn't even be here right now. 

She hadn't fixed anything by opening that door. She'd just _died_. 

"Hopkins," Duke croaked. He looked like his insides were falling apart. Jennifer had told him he'd be okay just on pure instinct, but he seemed determined to prove her wrong. She wanted to grab whoever had done that to him — Audrey, it was Audrey, she'd retroubled him and he'd gotten sick and then Jennifer had died — and squeeze their neck until their head popped off. She wanted to turn Dwight loose on this hellhole of a town like a rampaging giant and watch him rip it apart with his teeth. 

She wanted vengeance. The bloodier the better. She had never felt so angry before. 

"The gravedigger trouble?" Dwight was asking. The edges of Duke's mouth crumpled and he nodded. He wasn't looking at her. That made her angry, too. 

There was a long moment of quiet. 

"This, uh." Dwight gestured to Jennifer, flicking her a faint, hapless smile. "This doesn't seem so bad to me." 

"Octopus lane," Duke said, slumping heavily against his seat. He gestured to Jennifer too, as though he was pointing out something that should be obvious. "Grasshopper tub stopper meatball." 

Dwight frowned. Jennifer's anger flared again. 

"Did he just have a stroke?!" 

Duke looked between them, drawing himself upright on the bench. "Dwindle ladybugs?" 

"It's a trouble," Dwight said. He sounded exasperated. Like Duke was doing this on purpose. "We've seen it before." 

"Then help him!" Jennifer stormed over and reached for Duke's shoulder, but her hand went right through him. 

Because she was _dead_. 

"Fudgesicle," Duke said, resigned. He rubbed his hands down his face. "Airplanes finagle brass monkeys well.' 

"What the hell, Duke?" Dwight asked. "You going to start sewing people up again, too?" 

Duke raised his head to glare at him. Jennifer crossed her arms over her chest and added a glare of her own. 

Dwight threw his hands in the air. "I'm just asking! You took down a lot of people with that one." 

Duke gritted his teeth and groaned. "Hot smelters." 

"Why are you even here?" Jennifer asked. "Wait, let me guess: Audrey and Nathan need him on _another_ trouble." 

"What?" Dwight shook his head. "No, Haven's actually been quiet, apparently." 

"Squid teamwork makes beach blanket bingo," Duke grumbled, rolling his eyes. 

"I came here to check in on Duke," Dwight continued, like he hadn't actually spoken. Which pissed Jennifer off, even though she didn't really know what to say to Duke right now, either. "His trouble's gone nuclear since you died. I just kept him from a full meltdown." 

"Avocado," Duke said, holding up his hand at Dwight. "Avo _ca_ do."

"I don't know what that _means_ , Duke." 

Duke snapped his fingers shut like Dr. Evil shushing his son. "Avocado!" 

"I think he wants you to shut up," Jennifer said. Duke waved to her with a nod. Dwight scowled and closed his mouth. Duke nodded again, then closed his eyes. He breathed slowly and deliberately for a few moments, then spoke. 

"Scoville is tied to guilt," he said softly. It took Jennifer a moment to realize that that wasn't more nonsense. When she started to understand, her fury soared again. What did he have to feel guilty about?! It wasn't like he was doing any of this on purpose, right? 

"But this isn't my fault," Duke said, as though agreeing with her thoughts. "This trouble, Jennifer getting dragged back here from —" He swallowed and met her eyes, and she saw an entire ocean of sorrow there. "-- From whatever comes next. This isn't on me." He turned to look at Dwight, and his expression went hard. "It's on _you_." 

Dwight looked between the two of them, his eyebrows raised. ". . . Yeah, I'm okay with that." 

Duke snorted and dropped his head into his hands. 

"Seriously," Dwight said, giving Jennifer a little headshake. "This . . . really doesn't seem that bad to me. I'm sorry you're not resting in peace anymore, but I've seen troubles do a _lot_ worse." 

Jennifer wanted to cave in the sides of his head. 

"I want to cave in the sides of your head," she told him, crossing her arms over her chest. "I want to find Audrey and squeeze her until her eyes pop out. I even kind of want to hold Duke's head underwater until his ponytail grows back, and that's not even a _thing_." 

Duke let his hands fall down to his lap, but stared at the floor. He swallowed thickly. "The gravedigger trouble doesn't just bring back ghosts. It brings them back _angry_." 

Jennifer kicked at the wall, watching her foot pass harmlessly through it. "It's a really good thing I'm not solid enough to actually do anything." 

"O . . . kay," Dwight said, nodding slowly. "Alright, yeah, seeing where that's a problem." He set his stance, legs wide, hands on his hips, and pointed at Duke with his jaw. "So how does it work? Hopkins brought back ghosts all over town, but I never heard what the pattern was." 

Duke shrugged. "Best guess was, he brought back people he buried. But he brought back the Chief, too, and Nathan and I were the ones who buried him." 

Jennifer wished she could feel something other than fury right now. "You buried me?" 

Duke looked at her. He was so _sad_. It underlined everything about him, unbalancing every other emotion. Even when he tried to build anger on top of it, she could see sadness wearing away his foundations. This was what death had done to them. She was all anger, and he was all — grief. 

He was grieving her. 

"At sea," he said softly. "I thought — I hoped you'd like it. Better than a pauper's grave from the state, anyway." 

She wanted to smile at him. Tell him he'd chosen right. She wanted to _love him_. It pissed her off that she couldn't. 

"So there's Jennifer," Dwight said, ignoring the emotional undercurrent in the galley. He held up one finger, then added a second. "And Wade." Duke winced. Dwight carried on anyway, holding up a third finger. "And apparently Chief Wuornos. You bury anyone else?" 

Duke looked away. Dwight sighed. 

"Off the record, Duke. Dealing with this trouble is more important than me arresting you for — illegal grave digging, I guess." 

"You're a really shitty cop," Jennifer said. 

Duke flicked her a tiny smile. "That's what I like best about him." 

Dwight snorted. "Spill, Crocker." 

Duke shut his eyes and let out a long breath, then finally looked up at Dwight again. "Wade's victims." 

Dwight sucked in a breath. "Jordan." 

"He left them in the shallows just off the coast. Wrapped in plastic. They deserved better." 

"Should have turned them over. Let Gloria do her job." 

Duke gave a tiny headshake. "Would have been too many questions. At the time, all I wanted was to put it all behind me. Skip town. Be — done." 

"How many people?" 

"Three." Duke stared at the far wall, his eyes occasionally flicking over to Jennifer's face. Jennifer tried not to think about it, tried to focus on Wade and how horrible he'd been. Keep her rage focused somewhere it couldn't do any damage. "He killed three people before I stopped him. Jordan. One of the Holloways. I didn't recognize the third." 

"That's a lot of digging," Dwight noted. 

Duke gave him an empty smile. "Buried them at sea. Wade's the only one I put in the ground. He didn't deserve that honor. His victims — they didn't deserve to have their killer put to rest alongside them." 

Judging by the way he stared down at Duke, Dwight wasn't too happy with that answer. But he let it go. "So that's six ghosts, then. Six angry, murderous ghosts." 

"Yeah," Duke said. The foundations of his anger had washed away, and now he just looked tired.

Well, Jennifer would just have to be angry for the both of them. 

She turned her own glare on Dwight again. If she were a movie ghost, she'd be floating with the force of her fury. Her hair would lift up all on its own and her eyes would light up red and she'd be able to bring hurricane winds into the galley to strike him down. But she wasn't a movie ghost, so she just glared. 

"Yeah," Dwight said, sounding resigned. "I know. Because of me."

* * *

Duke Crocker's boat was boring. 

That was the worst part of this imprisonment. The biggest indignity of it. She'd been bested by worms, and now she was stuck in a place even duller than that insufferable barn. Who knew there was something worse than endless white hallways and repeated mind wipes? 

Really. Would it kill Duke to put up a picture in here? 

Mara leaned back in the ugly metal chair he'd provided for her, kicking idly at the air and rattling her chains. And plotting. Duke's boat was boring, but the man himself? Anything but. Not so much for himself, mind you. That ridiculous bleeding heart tucked into that so-called 'armor', as if the whole world couldn't see right through it if they just bothered to actually look. Really, the boy might as well be wearing a suit of glass. No, the grandstanding and bravado weren't the interesting bits. 

What interested her was his trouble. Or rather, trouble _s_. Those had potential. The way he was leaking them out one at a time right now was cute, and the fact that what he was leaking could even affect her was all kinds of fascinating. Phenomenal and terrifying, really. She'd _finally_ cracked that code, and she hadn't even been in full control of herself again yet! There was so much potential there, if only she could get her hands on the tools to tweak it. 

Preferably before the moron released something that got her — or himself — killed. 

There was enough noise coming from upstairs — up-deck? Whatever. Boat terms were stupid — to make her wonder if she'd run out of time. She'd thought that trick with the Audrey husk would have bought them a bit more breathing room, but she'd felt how many troubles were roiling around inside him. She'd felt the way they smacked themselves against the barriers of his being. It didn't matter how much water you poured off a boiling pot — as long as there was some left, it'd just keep making steam. She couldn't hear the words themselves, but the voices were clear enough. Duke, of course, and that bumbling oaf who fancied himself a leader. She was so preoccupied trying to hear what they were saying that when someone came strolling through the wall, she nearly — _nearly_ — jumped. 

"Well hello there," she said, tilting her head at the woman. "Let's see: dark hair, faintly waifish . . . _dead_ . . . you're one of the girlfriends, aren't you." She bounced a finger in the air, making a show of thinking. "Now don't tell me, I'll get it. Jamie? Juniper. I know it starts with a J." 

The woman studied her, pacing slowly out of the shadows. "So. You're her." 

"I'm me," Mara agreed. "And you're a side effect of Duke's gassiness. Unless . . . has the photographer started printing her photos again?" 

"You're the one who created the troubles." 

"Guilty!" Mara grinned, spreading her hands. "You're welcome." 

The woman bent down, bringing her face within inches of Mara's. Mara raised an unimpressed eyebrow and waited. The woman straightened again. 

"I thought you'd be taller." 

"And I thought you'd be less boring, we're all dealing with disappointment." 

"There are a lot of people who want you dead." 

"Well, I'd say the feeling's mutual, but that'd require caring what happens to most people." 

" _I_ want you dead." 

Mara spread her hands. "Take your best shot. Or — wait, right. You can't actually touch me, can you?" 

The woman smiled. It'd be spooky, if Mara felt at all threatened by her. She held up her hand, flexing her gloved fingers. "Don't worry," she said. "I know all about being untouchable." 

And then she turned and walked back out through the wall. 

Mara frowned. She tugged a little against her chains. Perhaps she would have to move her timetable up a touch. Not that she was worried, mind you. Not that she was afraid. 

How could she be afraid, when she'd felt nothing but anger for 500 years?


End file.
